


L’ultimo Uomo (the last man)

by barbitone



Series: Merlin Fanfiction [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Dark, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Dark, Dark Merlin, Dark fic, Descent into Madness, Horror, M/M, Psychological Horror, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unhealthy Relationships, canon era AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Merlin is dead but not gone. Arthur doesn’t know if what remains is a ghost, a curse, or his own guilt slowly driving him mad.





	L’ultimo Uomo (the last man)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the album Zarathustra by Museo Rosenbach. While writing I was influenced by the song "la vita, la morte, e il divino sonno nasce da questo bacio" (life, death, and divine sleep arise from this kiss). If you're curious, you can listen to it [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/19cNoWc7J2sqVk2CXEgZi2Bp8EwI2WJm7/view?usp=sharing) \- it's very creepy.
> 
> Please check the warnings and read with caution~

***

 

_Merlin burns at sunset. His eyes don’t leave Arthur’s face until the last, and then there’s only ashes._

_Sorcerers do not deserve even a grave._

 

***

 

“There’s been sightings of a magical beast to the south,” Leon says quietly. “His majesty wishes you to slay it.”

Behind him, Merlin rolls his eyes and takes a drink from his goblet – _Arthur’s_ goblet – before setting it down loudly on the table. Arthur flinches at the sound, hopes that Leon hasn’t noticed.

“Oh please,” Merlin says, “it’s probably a rabid wolf, or a bear. Not everything terrible that happens is a result of magic.”

Arthur resolutely ignores him. “Alright, we’ll leave at dawn, Sir Leon. Gather the knights, see to our provisions.” 

Merlin snorts loudly and leans back in Arthur’s chair, throwing his feet up onto the table with two dull _thunks_. Ashes flake off the soles of his boots to flutter down onto the previously clean surface. “There’s a blizzard outside, you’re not seriously agreeing to risk yourself on this fool’s errand.”

“Yes, Sire,” Leon says with a bow. He makes to leave the room and then pauses and turns back to Arthur. “Sire…” he starts again, only to trail off.

“What is it, Sir Leon?” Arthur prompts.

“This is a horribly stupid plan,” Merlin says in a deep voice, doing a mocking impression of the knight, “and you’ve gone madder than usual! You can go muck about the forest alone and we’ll all go to the tavern instead.” Merlin laughs, the sound harsh in the quiet room.

Arthur’s eye twitches involuntarily, but somehow he manages to restrain himself from looking over at where Merlin is sprawled by the fire, draining the remains of the wine from the goblet.

“I… never mind, Sire,” Leon says, and then turns to finally leave the room.

“Coward,” Merlin grumbles after him. “That’s what he really thinks, you know,” he says, turning his sharp gaze back to Arthur. “That’s what they all think.”

Arthur sighs and rubs at his temples. He has a splitting headache and it’s only getting worse.

“Are you ignoring me now? Have I said something you didn’t wish to hear? You should be used to that by now, _Sire_. Come now, surely you have some reply? Go on – I’m listening.” 

“What do you want from me!” Arthur bursts out, turning towards him.

Merlin’s eyes widen briefly in amusement. “I want you to grow a backbone, but we both know that won’t be happening. You couldn’t do it when it mattered, why should you bother over a foolish mission like this.” 

“I did all I could to save you,” Arthur says.

“You should have done _more_!” Merlin shouts, suddenly furious. “You should have come for me! You were supposed to come for me!” His eyes are gold, they always are now. The room shakes. A vase of rotting flowers tips off an end table and shatters. Merlin stares at it in surprise.

He stands and adjusts the fall of his dark tattered robes over his shoulders. Arthur can’t help but watch, riveted, as Merlin’s long pale fingers move over the ratty fabric. He looks wrong in black, unfamiliar. But his hands are still unchanged, his motions somehow elegant and awkward all at once.

“You’re a fool, and so are your knights for following you.” Merlin glares up at Arthur briefly. “Try not to get yourself killed tomorrow. Or don’t. It matters little to me.”

Arthur tries not to show the sting of that last comment, but Merlin’s mocking laughter reveals his failure. He doesn’t quite see the moment Merlin leaves, he never does. Between one instant and the next he’s just- gone. As if he’d never been there at all. Arthur looks down, rubs at his temples to try and relieve the pressure. He sits heavily in Merlin’s – _Arthur’s_ – recently vacated chair and refills the goblet with shaking hands.

 

***

 

_He should have convinced Uther, argued better. He should not have argued at all, just agreed with the King’s sentence and then secretly spirited Merlin out of the dungeons. He should have sent Lancelot and Gwaine to rescue him while he kept the court occupied. He should have kept better watch on his manservant, should have taken better care of him. He should have seen the truth about Merlin and sent him away before he could ever have been caught. He should have pulled Merlin off the pyre. He should have-_

 

***

 

The hunt is just as miserable and just as fruitless as Merlin had predicted, but Arthur chooses not to dwell on that. He tries to enjoy the peace and quiet – the only time he seems to be able to get away from Merlin these days is when he’s out of the castle – but without Gwaine there to break up the silence with bawdy jokes, the atmosphere between the knights is tense. Or maybe it’s Arthur’s presence that makes it so.

Whereas before they would have felt no compunction about teasing him, or breaking out into conversation amongst themselves, now they are as silent as the grave. By evening Arthur can’t take it anymore, and turns them back for home. Even Merlin’s jibes are better than this.

Merlin is leaning against the castle gate when they return. He throws a mocking grin in Arthur’s direction as Arthur instructs a page to tell Uther they’d found no trace of the beast. They pass Guinevere in the hallway and she refuses to meet his eyes. Arthur tries to hide the hurt but he can’t hide anything from Merlin beside him.

“She’s lucky to have escaped you when she did,” Merlin says. “You would have made her miserable, always putting the Kingdom ahead of what she needed, wanted. Lancelot will love her the way she needs to be loved. You can’t love anyone. Not truly.”

Arthur doesn’t bother to deny him.

 

***

 

_There are ashes everywhere, on his floor, staining his clothes, dusting his pillow. On the second day he loses his temper, snaps at George and demands to know why the man is incapable of sweeping up, why his food and wine is covered in ashes._

_“Ashes, Sire?” George asks. The hurt and confusion in his voice is plain and Arthur pauses. He looks around the room again and sees that it’s pristine. His breath catches and a cold sweat breaks out over his back._

 

***

 

Arthur startles awake to the strident feeling of _danger_. He barely has time to grab the dagger he keeps beneath his pillow before the assassin is on him. He rolls out of the way of the first jab of the man’s dirk and blocks the second, grunting as the blow jars his arm.

The assassin draws a second blade from his belt and then it’s all Arthur can do to ward him off. As they struggle he catches sight of Merlin leaning against the bedpost, watching dispassionately. His eyes glow eerily in the darkness. The assassin seizes on his moment of distraction to knock the dagger out of Arthur’s hand and then his knife is coming for Arthur’s throat. 

Suddenly he falters for no reason Arthur can see, and Arthur seizes upon his chance. He punches the man in the face, leaving him shocked and winded. The assassin comes after him again but Arthur grabs his wrist, slams it against the wooden post of the bed to force him to drop the blade. After that the man has no chance. Arthur is bigger, stronger, better trained. He drags the stranger to the ground, they grapple until Arthur manages to wrap his fingers around the assassin’s throat. The man flails underneath him ineffectually, choking and panicked as Arthur grits his teeth and squeezes tighter.

Arthur can hear the crackling of the fire in the hearth growing louder and louder, there are ashes drifting down around him. He’s breathing hard, his whole body shaking. His mind is completely blank as he stares ahead, watching Merlin watch him darkly from the opposite side of the room, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes smoldering. The man isn’t struggling anymore, and when Arthur looks down at him he sees Merlin’s face. He gasps in shock and scrambles backwards, and when he takes another look it’s just a stranger again. Merlin is gone.

 

***

 

_He starts seeing a dark robed figure around the castle, in town. Every time he sees the stranger he feels a jolt of fear, or maybe longing. He searches for him, trying to catch a glimpse of him, trying to find out for sure._

_Merlin has been dead for months by the time Arthur manages to catch up to the stranger, finally sees his face. Arthur falls to his knees and begs for forgiveness, not even bothering to hide his tears._

_“I thought if I saw you weeping over me I’d be satisfied,” Merlin says coldly. “I was wrong.”_

 

***

 

Arthur startles when the knock comes. Merlin looks up curiously from his book when the messenger enters.

“Sire,” the boy says with a respectful bow, “the King is calling for you. Gaius says he hasn’t much time left.”

Arthur hesitates over his papers, tensing for one of Merlin’s snarling remarks. Merlin stays silent though, a thin smile playing over his lips.

“Very well,” Arthur says finally, and dismisses the boy from his chambers. He sighs as he stands, hoping against all hope that Merlin will choose not to tag along. Merlin, of course, stands as well. 

“Couldn’t you stay here?” Arthur asks quietly.

“And miss this? Not a chance.”

Merlin refrains from further commentary as they walk through the corridors. Arthur has to steel himself before opening the door to Uther’s chambers. Merlin slinks in after him like a shadow.

Uther is curled up in a chair by the window, a thick blanket draped over his shoulders. He looks frail in the dying light of the fire, his hair hanging down in limp gray locks and his eyes glassy and pale. He spares his son a brief absent glance before returning to whatever it was he was examining through the glass. “You came,” he says quietly, his voice rough like gravel. He seems mildly surprised for a moment, and then his expression fades back into slack emptiness.

Arthur walks over to stand beside him, looking down at the living corpse that had once been his father. Merlin drapes himself over Uther’s shoulders, runs a finger down the King’s slack cheek. Arthur wonders how Uther could remain unaware of Merlin’s presence. He sees the way the sallow skin of his face dimples under Merlin’s touch.

“So this is the man who killed me,” Merlin says, almost in wonder. “Pathetic.” 

“Don’t,” Arthur says quietly. Neither Merlin nor Uther seem to hear him.

“I could kill him so easily,” Merlin murmurs, letting his hand trail down to press against the faintly fluttering pulse in Uther’s throat. “It would only take an instant and then he would be gone to the hell he belongs in.”

“Don’t,” Arthur repeats, a cold chill entering his body.

Merlin looks up then, anger bringing some heat into his eyes. “Why not? It would be fair, don’t you think? A death for a death. I wouldn’t even make it hurt, though he deserves it.”

“Please,” Arthur whispers.

“You’ve already chosen him over me once. Don’t you see? This is your chance to choose again. It might even be a kindness. He’s got little more than hours left, either way. Just say it – say that you choose me.”

“You were never this cruel,” Arthur says, his voice breaking on the last word.

Merlin pulls away from Uther’s body. “I had to crawl my way out of the grave, Sire. Some things had to be left behind.”

“Let me have these last moments with my father. Please.”

Merlin grimaces. “You two do make a lovely picture together. The mad King, staring at nothing. And the mad Prince, talking to nothing.” And, mercifully, he leaves.

Arthur pauses. Now that he is alone with Uther, he doesn’t quite know what to do. Finally he sits down on the floor at his feet, and gingerly takes one of his withered hands into his own. Uther says nothing else as daylight is stolen by darkness, and by midnight all the warmth has left his frail limbs. Arthur can’t summon the strength to stand, or weep, or even call out for the guards. He holds silent vigil over his father’s body until Gaius arrives with the dawn.

 

***

 

_“Why can’t they see you?” he asks._

_“Because I don’t want them to,” Merlin says with a brittle smile. “Now you have me all to yourself. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”_

_“Not like this.”_

 

***

 

Merlin is absent at his coronation and Arthur doesn’t know if he means it as an insult or a kindness.

Afterwards Gaius comes to him in his chambers. “Merlin would have been proud of you,” he says solemnly.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, even though he knows it isn’t true.

 

***

  
_They all  look at him differently now, something like worry, or fear stealing over their faces whenever he’s around. Arthur tries not to look at himself at all, not able to meet his own eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping, kept awake by the feeling of being watched all the time. He can barely eat, but he forces himself to choke down his food past the taste of ashes._

_Gaius brings him a box of sleeping potions without asking and after he leaves, Arthur watches Merlin smash the bottles on the flagstones one at a time until the box is empty._

 

***

 

Arthur's first act as king is to appoint Gaius to his council. His second is to pardon the sorcerers in the dungeons. By the time he gets to the third Merlin is scowling at him with his arms crossed over his chest as Arthur drafts the order to lift the ban on magic.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" Merlin sneers. 

"No," Arthur says quietly. He's not doing it for Merlin, but rather because of him. All of the sorcerers he'd released had been held on minor suspicions and the jealousy of their neighbors - accused of harmless charms and inconveniences. None of them were even close to the threat posed by Nimueh, or Morgana, or Morgause. The worst had given a well-known swindler warts and it could not be a crime that warranted execution. Not to mention that Arthur doubted most of them were sorcerers at all, and he was kept awake at night thinking of all the innocents that had been executed during Uther's reign. His own would not be marked by fear and unjust persecution, even if he couldn't change the mistakes of his past. 

"If you think I'll forgive you after this, you're wrong," Merlin says and snatches the parchment from Arthur's hand.

Arthur's never deluded himself with such a fantasy, but it doesn't seem like Merlin's looking for an answer so he stays silent.

Merlin frowns as he begins to read, and then casually sweeps everything off the corner of Arthur's desk to perch delicately upon it, straightening out his tattered robes with a twitch of his fingers. A strip of black cloth flutters down to rest on Arthur's wrist, and Arthur turns his hand palm up to let the fabric run through his fingers. It feels chalky, leaves soot stains on his skin.

"You're only inviting trouble with this," Merlin says finally. "It's all well and good to allow magic so long as it doesn't hurt anyone - but what exactly does that mean? Physical harm and illness surely, but what about mental control and love potions and side effects and accidents? Once magic is legal, charms will be sold in the streets. What if a merchant buys a spell to ruin his competitor's goods? Who will you punish then - the merchant or the sorcerer? And would you that the sorcerer report such a request instead, and if so - how will you distinguish a true claim from slander?"

Arthur looks at the parchment still in Merlin's hand, glaring as though it has betrayed him. "I- I'm sure I'll work it out in due time," he says.

Merlin balls up the parchment in his hand and his eyes flare as it disintegrates into flames. "Magic has been gone too long from this land. The mechanisms for keeping it in check have been irreparably damaged. The priestesses who used to keep the balance have all been killed or scattered or turned against Camelot. Reputable magicians have fled, leaving only charlatans and hedge witches and minor conjurers.

"Who will train sorcerers in the sacred arts? How can your knights enforce laws they fear and don't understand? It's too late, Arthur. Your father may not have completely cleansed Camelot of magic, but it's dying all the same. Give up this stupid idea before you make everything even worse."

Arthur clenches his hands into fists. The contempt in Merlin's eyes is a familiar sight by now, but it makes him ache all the same. "If you helped me, we could-" 

"No," Merlin interrupts coldly and rises from the desk. "If you decide to continue with this folly I'm sure Gaius can advise you."

"Merlin, please. I need you." At a different time, saying such a thing would have made Arthur flush, but by now he’s resigned to the truth of it.

Merlin turns away and walks over to gaze out of the window. "You abandoned me when I needed you," he says, his voice hot and shaking with rage. "And now that you need me I'm supposed to come to heel?"

Arthur rises from the desk and takes a few hesitant steps towards Merlin. The candle flames around the room shiver ominously as through from an unseen wind and Arthur stops. "Please, Merlin. I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness." 

There’s a tense silence before Merlin laughs and turns to face him. "Do you know how to walk on your knees?" 

Arthur can’t help flinching.

 

***

 _The simplest explanation is that he’s going mad, that Merlin isn’t really there at all. Arthur tries ignoring him, but it’s nearly impossible.  In many ways he doesn’t_ want _to ignore Merlin, wants him around even as some dark twisted shade of himself. He forces himself to try. Merlin grows quiet after the first hour of not getting any response to his jabs. After the second hour Arthur looks up to see that Merlin is gone._  

_He lets himself smile bitterly and works in peace for the rest of the day. In the evening George draws him a bath, and Arthur finally manages to relax, tense muscles unknotting in the heat. That’s when he feels the hand in his hair, the impossible strength pushing his head down below the water. He panics, struggling, looks up to see Merlin staring down at him._

_He’s never been this terrified before. Merlin’s grip is like iron, and he flails against it ineffectually. The look in Merlin’s eyes is vicious, almost pleased. Arthur’s lungs are burning, cramping, he’s gripping the edges of the tub so tightly that he’s getting splinters under his nails. His vision is swimming in and out, and just as he thinks he’s about to die, Merlin hauls him back up._

_Arthur gasps for breath like a landed fish, coughs up soapy water. He pulls his upper body out of the bath and hooks his arms over the edge of the tub, holding onto it with a death grip.  He’s shaking so hard he can barely think. He desperately wants to get out of the tub, but his body won’t obey him. He’s still trying to catch his breath when Merlin crouches down in front of him, takes his chin in suddenly gentle hands and presses a cold kiss against his lips._

_“I don’t like being ignored,” he whispers as he pulls away. His eyes flare and the tub falls apart into planks, dumping water all over the floor. Arthur spills forward and doesn’t have the breath to cry out. Merlin leaves him like that, laying on the floor, naked and shivering, shocked and in pain._

 

***

 

The magic ban is lifted and there are no riots in the streets, no chaos. A few minor problems arise, but Gaius is adept at handling them. He leads the knights and the city guard in enforcing the magic laws, and they obey him readily. None of the things that Merlin threatened come to pass, but he continues dripping poison in Arthur’s ear.

Arthur is shocked when he catches sight of his own reflection in a dark window. He looks like a walking corpse. No wonder no one meets his gaze, that the whole castle tiptoes around him like he may shatter at any moment. He can’t blame them. They’ve gone from one mad king to another.

He waits in his rooms at night, drinking heavily. When Merlin appears, it feels like he’s been there the whole time, like he’d never left. He sits on the edge of the table next to Arthur, so close that Arthur can practically feel the warmth radiating off him. He takes the goblet out of Arthur’s hand and downs the wine inside in two huge gulps. Arthur rises unsteadily, leaning on the table as the room spins around him. 

“What are you doing?” Merlin asks with narrowed eyes.

By way of answer Arthur pulls the dagger from his belt, stabs Merlin through the heart. The blade passes through him harmlessly, as if he isn’t even there. Before Arthur knows exactly what’s happened, Merlin is slamming him against the wall. His hand feels painfully solid around Arthur’s throat.

“Really, Arthur?” he asks. He’s angry, the shine of his eyes tinting towards a darker color, something like burning coals rather than molten gold.

Arthur closes his eyes in resignation, and when Merlin lets go of him, he falls to his knees with a quiet gasp.

“I think I know how you can make it up to me,” Merlin smirks. He goes back to the table and sits down, knees spread wide. His tattered robes flutter down around him, settling over the chair and the ground like shadows. “Come here,” he says, “and I wasn’t joking about walking on your knees.” 

Arthur doesn’t move for a long time, face flushed and heart racing. In the end he does as he’s told, crawls forward until he’s kneeling between Merlin’s spread thighs.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Merlin asks with a raised brow.

Arthur releases a shuddering breath and goes for the buckle of Merlin’s belt. His body is solid under Arthur’s hands, warm. He’s hard. Does that mean he’s really alive, really here? Arthur isn’t sure. In some strange way Arthur wants this, wants some shred of touch, of human closeness or something like it. He leans in and takes Merlin’s cock in his mouth.

He feels Merlin’s hand at the back of his head and a flutter of panic rushes through him, but Merlin doesn’t push or force, just holds him. His fingers are gentle as he cards through Arthur’s hair, and Arthur can’t help making a sound a little like a sob. He sets a slow pace, brings his hands up to grip Merlin’s hips. He’s so warm. He smells like Merlin used to smell, before the pyre.

Merlin moans, letting his head drop back against the chair, and Arthur feels an answering arousal rising in himself.

“That’s good,” Merlin says breathily and Arthur closes his eyes.

He’s on edge, waiting for Merlin to say something cutting or cruel. But Merlin only whispers quiet encouragements, and slowly Arthur relaxes, starts moving in earnest. He’s painfully hard now but he ignores it, focusing on Merlin’s breathy gasps instead, the way his knees are shaking, the heat of his cock in Arthur’s mouth. 

Merlin’s grip tightens in Arthur’s hair before he comes, not letting Arthur pull away. Arthur swallows, breathes carefully through his nose until Merlin lets him go. He leans back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Merlin looks almost kind as he watches Arthur below him. He frowns when he sees Arthur’s erection, then smiles smugly.

He shifts, presses his foot against the front of Arthur’s trousers. Arthur shudders at the pressure, bites back a moan.

“Go on then,” Merlin says, his voice a low purr, his eyes glittering in the darkness. 

Arthur is past shame, past fear. He presses his face into Merlin’s thigh, thrusts against him. He’s so desperate for it that it only takes a minute, less, and then he’s gasping and coming, barely touched.

Merlin refills the goblet from a pitcher of wine on the table, takes a drink.

“What would they think of you if they could see you now?” he muses quietly.

Arthur shudders. His head is spinning. He thinks maybe he’s going to be sick. The only thing he knows for sure is that he can’t go on like _this_.

 

***

 

_In the end it’s something completely foolish that gets Merlin caught. So foolish that Arthur can’t even remember what it is. One minute he’s groggily getting dressed, and the next he’s being called into the throne room to see his manservant kneeling on the floor in chains of cold iron._

_Merlin looks up at him with wide frightened eyes and croakes out, “Arthur,_ please _,” before he’s dragged off into the dungeons to await execution later that day._

_Arthur is shocked and confused and angry, and yet argues with his father until he’s blue in the face, begging for mercy. Finally Uther has him thrown in a cell too, only to be brought out a few hours later to see Merlin burn._

_Within the span of a single, terrible day, Merlin goes from Arthur’s foolish, clumsy, beloved servant to ashes on the wind._

_He doesn’t really die for another two years, not until Arthur runs him through with Excalibur in his bed. His eyes widen, the gold bleeding out of them until they’re blue again, just like Arthur remembers. He raises a shaking hand to Arthur’s face as he tries and fails to say something, unable to find the breath around the cold steel piercing his chest._

_“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispers, vision blurry with tears. He sees the shape of the words repeated over Merlin’s lips._

_The following morning his guards burst in to find Arthur sobbing over Merlin’s naked body, the bed stained with blood and ashes._

 

***

 

**Epilogue**

 

A delegation of druids arrives in Camelot, coming to pay their respects to their king. Their leader Biróg, a tall slender woman with raven hair who seems wise beyond her years, takes one look at Arthur and asks him to return to the forest with them. She seems horrified as she looks at him, but in a way that makes her draw closer rather than pull away, like everyone else. Arthur agrees. It doesn’t matter anyway, for the past few weeks it’s been Gaius, Leon, and Gwen ruling the Kingdom, if not in name then in fact.

Leaving Camelot is a relief, the fresh summer air seeping warmth into Arthur’s body, his soul. The druid village is small, lively. Laughing children run and play between tents. The air is sweet with honeysuckle. During the day the Druids put him to work, repairing tools and equipment, gathering peas and raspberries, peeling potatoes. At night Biróg performs rituals over him, draws sigils on his skin with brightly colored pastes, chants over crystals. He sleeps after, and doesn’t dream. 

He feels - lighter.

The druids prepare a feast for the summer solstice, and Arthur eats his fill, even laughs a few times at Biróg’s jokes, at the antics of the children. By midnight the children are asleep; the adults slowly steal away in pairs to make love. 

“The forest is beautiful this time of night,” Biróg says sagely as she looks into the distance. Her eyes are so dark they’re nearly black. She seems far away, like she’s seeing something on the other side of the veil.

The undergrowth is lit with fireflies, the sky full of stars. As Arthur walks deeper into the woods time seems to stretch, the night birds grow quiet. He comes upon a lake, its surface covered in ripples that reflect the silver light of the full moon. There’s a slab of black marble standing incongruously on the shore, upon it a man lies wrapped in white linen robes. Arthur’s breath catches in his throat as he steals closer.

The man is sleeping, the man is-

Arthur strokes his cheek with shaking fingers and his eyes flutter open. Impossibly blue.

The man breathes slowly, like he’s afraid. His lips part, and he whispers-

“... _Arthur_?”

 

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> L'ultimo Uomo by Museo Rosenbach~  
> Volto di luce  
> Mi hanno parlato di te  
> La tua storia e' nell'eco dei monti  
> Troppo in alto per scendere in noi  
> Nel tuo eterno cammino quello che insegui non c'e';  
> Senza un fine puo' esistere la vita. si completa nell'arco di un giorno  
> Misera ombra, vuoto riflesso dell'io  
> Non ti serve capire la forza che mi spinge a cercare nel mondo  
> Chiara essenza divina gia' si nasconde in chi  
> Sta vivendo il gioco del tempo nell'attesa di un'alba diversa
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Face of light  
> They told me about you  
> Your story is in the echo of the mountains  
> Too high to get down into us  
> In your eternal journey what you are chasing is not there;  
> Without life, life can exist without an end. it is completed within a day  
> It has a shadow, an empty reflection of the self  
> You do not need to understand the force that drives me to look in the world  
> Clear divine essence already hides in whom  
> He is living the game of time waiting for a different dawn


End file.
